The next thing I know, he’s thrown me over his shoulder.
He carries me down the hallway to the bedroom and sets me down on the floor. Hot with desire, I start to undress, but he shakes his head. “Let me.”
I surrender to him completely, letting him pull my blouse over my head, and slide my pants down. He unhooks my bra and peels it off. When I’m naked, he starts to move me towards the bed.
I put my hands on his broad chest. “Wait. Claudio, I want to see you naked too. Please. I know you’re scarred. You think that’s going to turn me off somehow?” I run my fingers along the scar on his arm. “I think scars are hot.”
I’m not sure why I’m pushing him like this. Why am I urging him to be more intimate with me, when I’ve vowed to escape him the first chance I get? I still haven’t accepted that I’ll be his wife, or rather his prisoner, forever. Every minute I’m alone, I’m spending my time scheming, thinking of ways to evade him. But here with him, the air sizzling with the heat of our attraction, I’m drawn to him like iron to a super-charged magnet.
His lips quirk in a grim smile. “If scars turn you on, you’re going to fucking come on the spot if you see me naked.”
“Challenge accepted,” I say, with a smirk. “Are you going to deny me the joy of instant spontaneous orgasm?”
He sighs impatiently, and for a moment I think he’s going to refuse me. But then he takes a step back and undoes the top button of his shirt.
His eyes are fixed on mine as he slowly unbuttons it the rest of the way and then folds it neatly, putting it on top of the dresser.
I let my gaze rove over his naked torso, as he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his pants. He folds his pants and puts them next to the shirt. It’s worse than I thought; there are thick white ridges crisscrossing his entire torso, running over the carved six-pack of his abdomen, and his back. Cigarette burns, too. Somebody must have slashed and burned him dozens of times, over a very long time period. Months and months. Maybe years.
I feel a thick fierce hatred for whoever did this to him. It must have been when he was much younger, because nobody could have subjugated an adult Claudio like this. Somebody tortured him when he was a child. God, I hope he killed them, and I hope he made it hurt.
He’s still magnificent, naked, though. He stands there before me, his face grim, and I see the pain of his distant past glimmering in his eyes, still haunting him.
He arches an eyebrow. “My uncle, and a man he sold me to,” he says, with a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “My uncle raised me after my parents died. He didn’t do a very good job.” Then he lifts his shoulders in a resigned shrug. “Don’t feel too bad for me. I barely remember most of it. I blanked it out.”
“Animals.” I choke on the word. “I’m sorry, Claudio.”
“My uncle is a dead animal.” His lip quirks in a grim smile. “And I’ll find that man someday. He fled to Albania, but from time to time I hear rumors about him. It’s hard for a man of his appetites to disappear completely. I have a vacation coming up; maybe I’ll spend some time on that.”
“I have no doubt you’ll find him,” I say.
Then I lean in, and trace the scars with my fingers, lightly. “These are badges of courage,” I say, and I lean in and take his dusky nipple into my mouth and suck it. He groans in pleasure, and his fingers tangle in my hair. “It doesn’t matter if you’re naked or clothed. I look at you and I see the man who sets me on fire with passion. My knight in tarnished armor, who rides into battle for me. Nobody else has ever fought for me like you have.” If I’m going to leave him someday, I want him to at least know what he meant to me.
“Heather.” He strokes my face with his finger, and his eyes are anguished and passionate. “I’m not the knight. I’m the fucking dragon, and I’m going to devour you.”
Slowly, he drags me down to my knees in front of him.
His thick cock juts up at the ceiling, a white pearl of pre-cum glistening on the head. I lap it off delicately, enjoying his tortured groan of pleasure.
I take the head in my mouth, and swirl my tongue over it, enjoying his groan of pleasure. When he slides his cock into my throat, it’s so thick I’m afraid I’m going to choke, and I rear back a little bit, panicking.
He holds my head still and rams it in deeper. “You’re going to take it all, and like it,” he growls. He begins pumping into my mouth, and I force myself to relax and let him slide into my throat. I desperately suck in air through my nostrils. I can’t move, I can’t breathe...
“Too big for you?” he taunts. “Too bad. Oh, God. Oh, yeah...” and he explodes in my mouth, the thick sweet syrup running across my tongue and down my throat. He still keeps me trapped, filling my mouth with him, as he shudders and releases every last drop.
Finally, he pulls away and I gulp for air. He strokes my hair tenderly. “That was so fucking good. Now get your ass on that bed, before I count down from five, and lie down on your back. Five, four, three...”
I scramble to obey him, although a tiny part of me wants to challenge him, to push back, to see what my punishment would be. But then that would delay the pleasure, and I need it. My body screams for it.
Quickly, he fixes my wrists to the cuffs at the head of the bed. He doesn’t blind-fold me this time. He climbs up on the bed and kneels between my legs and licks his way up my thigh.
“Who do you belong to?” he demands.
The answer comes easily. “You, Claudio. Only you.” For now, I tell myself silently. But I don’t dare say it out loud.
He suckles at me, teasing me and torturing me with his tongue and fingers. He strokes me between my thighs and then pulls away, until I’m quivering and ready to cry with need. Only when I beg him does he plunge between my legs and fuck me with his tongue, massaging my clit until my whole body is on fire. When I climax, he suckles harder, drinking my juices as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on me.
When he unstraps me, I’m still quivering, wrung out. He gathers me in his arms, and I nestle up against him. It feels like no time at all before he kisses my shoulder and sits up. “I have to go. Lunch meeting,” he says. “I’m going to have Carmelo take you to the hospital for a visit, and you can see Mary too if you want.”
My heart leaps with joy. I’ve been texting Mary, and she’s sad without me there, I can tell. I’ve missed her too.
“Who’s your lunch meeting with?”
His voice goes distant. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and I feel him pulling away from me again. If he says “don’t worry about it,” that means that he’s doing something dangerous, or why would he even bother to say that?
I settle back down on the pillow, feeling deflated. I shouldn’t have expected anything more than this.
He looks down at me, but his gaze is far away. “Are you sorry you married me?” I ask him, afraid of the answer.
“No. Are you sorry I made you marry me?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. No matter what happens in the future, Claudio has given me something I never thought I’d have. I feel wanted, and protected. “I’ve dreamed of being married since I was a little girl, and this isn’t what I’d imagined. When I was younger I had some stupid idea that a prince would come for me in a horse-drawn carriage, and sweep me off my feet. He’d take me to a castle and we’d live happily ever after. Now...I just want a husband who cares about me. A husband who trusts me enough to let me in a little.”
The tender Claudio of a few minutes ago is gone. He’s been replaced by a cool, distant stranger. “I’m not that man, Heather. I’m a selfish, heartless bastard. And that’s why, even though I can’t be what you deserve, I’m never letting you go.”
And he leaves without a backward glance.
Chapter Seventeen
Claudio
A few hours after I’ve left my wife in our bed, I go to Tovarish, and join Kostya and his men for an excellent lunch in a private dining room. Makar is sitting to his left, a man named Andrei sitting at
his right. Several bodyguards stand against the wall, scowling at me and flexing their muscles. It’s more a status thing then the need for protection. I doubt Kostya is afraid of anyone. He’s a big man, and he moves with an air of menace that’s very genuine. A predator like me can always tell. Physically, I think he might even be a match for me.
We dive into lunch, exchanging boring pleasantries before we get down to business. “My stepfather was very impressed with your gift,” Kostya says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin.
He’s not the kind of man to just give a compliment for no reason. I sense trouble, but I nod in acknowledgement. “Happy to be of service to you.”
“There were several other paintings in the exhibit that my stepfather would like, to complete his collection,” he continues. “I will give you a list. You and Makar will retrieve them for me. I told him the paintings would be in Russia by next Wednesday.” The fuck? Today is Friday. “I will give you whatever resources you need. And you will be compensated handsomely, of course.”
To say I’m furious would be a massive understatement. This is horseshit. Diego would never pull this kind of crap, giving me a deadline without even asking me if the assignment is possible in the first place, much less how long it will take to carry it off. After the theft, the museum security is going to be at an all-time high. This is the worst possible time to carry off a heist.
“I will make sure that I get the paintings for you,” I say, choosing my words carefully
Kostya’s eyes narrow, and he straightens in his chair. I feel the very air thicken as testosterone swirls in a fog, mixing with the hideous cloud of cologne that envelopes these men. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“But, Tiberio stated that you would not ask anything of me that would require disclosure of proprietary information. The only way for me to get the paintings is by working with certain people who can give me access, and if I have Makar with me, I would be forced to disclose who they are.”
“Well, isn’t that just too bad,” Makar sneers at me. “You’ve gotten your, how do you Americans call them? Your marching orders. You will be working under my command, and you’ll like it.”
A storm cloud of rage whirls inside me. Before I can say anything, Kostya shoves his chair back and turns on Makar with a snarl of pure animal rage.
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” Kostya bellows at him, just in time to save me from strangling Makar to death and ruining everything for Diego.
Makar realizes that he’s overstepped his bounds. He swallows hard.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “I was angered by his disrespect for you, but of course it is not my place to address that.” Manipulative little weasel.
I’ve never wanted to kill anyone more than I want to kill him. But if I do, I won’t make it out of here alive. And even if by some miracle I could fight my way out of here, Diego would have no choice but to have me executed, and then I would not be able to protect Heather. Who knows what might happen to her? Diego might yet give her to Kostya as a gift.
“I am not being disrespectful, I am being practical. The goal here is to get the paintings, yes?” I say to Kostya, and I can’t hide the anger in my voice. “I know how to get the paintings. And I can guarantee you that the only way for me to do it is to work alone. Also, I will need two hundred thousand dollars up front, wired to Diego’s account, for bribes.”
Makar looks as if he’s about to protest, but sees the look on his boss’s face and sinks sullenly back into his chair.
Kostya scowls at that. “What day will you be carrying out the heist? I need the paintings no later than Tuesday morning.”
“I will get them for you late Monday night.”
I’ll get them late Sunday night, but I’m not telling him that. The less he knows about my plans, the better. There’s something off here.
“As soon as you do, you will contact Makar on a burner phone, so the two of you can meet and you can hand the paintings off to him.”
He stands up. “In the meantime, I’m opening up a new club tonight, and I’d like you and your wife to be there. I will text you the address.”
“My wife isn’t much for nightclubs,” I say, and I realize I have no idea if that’s true or not. And I feel a pang. There’s so much I don’t know about her.
I know that she’s beautiful, and smart, and brave. I know that she’s more loyal than anyone in her life deserves, including me. I know that hope and optimism still live in her sweet soul, despite all the crap life has fed her.
But I don’t know her likes and dislikes, her dreams, even what she wants to do with her days. I’m sure that being locked up in my apartment with a bunch of books for company probably isn’t her dream life.
Donata’s right. I’m fucking failing as a husband. I can never be what Heather needs, but I could at least try to make her a little happier.
“You don’t have to stay long. Come for an hour,” Kostya says. “There will be lots of press there. You and your wife make a gorgeous couple, the kind that I need there on opening night.”
Another bullshit order that I can’t refuse. I just nod, and pour myself some more vodka. Fuck, I can’t wait for this week to be over with.
That afternoon, I take my wife to a beauty salon – a different one than the one where Maria worked. I say “worked” because Maria is in the hospital recovering from a session with my fists. The bitch is lucky she’s still walking, after what she pulled, but she’ll never be pretty again. All the plastic surgery in the world won’t fix what I did to her. And she’ll need dentures. For a vain skank like her, losing her looks is worse than death.
That’s nothing on Grigorio’s punishment. I took hours with him. He begged for death long before I delivered, and I only granted his wishes because I was tired of the shrill bubbling sound of his screams.
Heather glances at me from across the room, as I sit there making calls to people who will help me arrange the theft of the paintings. Before we came here, I warned her not to try anything. Like slipping out the back door. I crave my wife, I care about my wife, I like her as a person...but I still don’t trust her. How could I? She didn’t come voluntarily, and I’ve given her plenty of reason to run.
She’s a smart girl, though. Someday, no matter how careful I am, she’ll find a way. All I can do is guard her closely, and enjoy the time we have together, because the time will come when I’m alone again. The thought leaves me angry and on edge.
When the stylist finishes with Heather, she looks as if she should be strutting on a runway. Way too good. Her golden hair is blown dry and artfully waved, her lips are the color of rose petals, eyes rimmed with smoky blue. Heather smiles and looks at me for approval. I think of the eyes of other men roving over her body. All I can do is summon a scowl.
Her face falls, and I feel like crap. Why can’t I fucking be decent to my wife? Not even romantic. Just decent.
At home, I pick a dress that’s stylish but has layers of floaty gauze, so her figure is at least a little hidden. I’ve been feeding Heather so much that she’s filling in nicely, all those lush curves swelling under the soft fabric, and I’m homicidal at the thought of how much attention she’ll draw.
I have Carmelo drive us, directing him to wait in the limo outside. The nightclub is crowded when we arrive.
There are a lot of Russians in the crowd, but Kostya’s done a good enough job with his promotions that the club that is packed with beautiful young party goers from all over the city. He’s floated the news that this is a Bratva club, and all the office drones and social media stars want to breathe in that whiff of dangerous glamor. He’s also clearly hired a bunch of models, both male and female, to mingle with the crowd.
I buy Heather a drink at the bar and loop my arm around her shoulders in a display of ownership, scowling at anyone who even glances in our direction.
“One hour,” I tell her. “And then we’re out of here. There’s a nice all-night restaurant I can take you to.”
“Like a n
ormal date?” she says, and there’s a tinge of sadness to her smile.
“Yeah. We’ll act like a normal couple and have a normal date.” That’s what women like, isn’t it? She looks a little happier now.
“You were talking about working,” I say to her. “Maybe Donata could come up with something you could do for us.”
“I was going to go back to college in September,” she says.
I narrow my eyes at that. Her brother would be out of the hospital by then...her father, frankly, will probably be dead by then unless he can get a liver transplant...if she’s at college every day, it would be harder to keep an eye on her. She and her brother could just run. Then again, maybe if she was in college, she wouldn’t want to run.
“What were you going to major in?”
“Accounting,” she says, surprising me.
“Seriously? Nerd.”
“Oh yeah,” she smirks. “Total nerd. I have a pocket protector and everything.”
I scoff at her, “What even is a pocket protector?”
“Play your cards right, and I’ll show you.” She smiles up at me. My wife is smiling at me. Joking with me. Leaning into me. We’re going out to dinner later.
We’re so fucking normal.
“So, what about it?” she says. “College? September? If I’m going to go, I should start making plans, signing up for classes.”
I think of all the ways she could shake a bodyguard if she were on campus. Disappearing from my life forever. I think of my bed, which would feel cold and empty without her in it, even though I never tell her that.
“We’ll see,” I say, and her smile vanishes. She tenses up and tries to step away from me, and instinctively, I tighten my arm and pull her in closes. And we’re right back where we started.
Kostya and Makar are sitting in a VIP area that’s elevated above the rest of the club. There are a cluster of chairs, and to get to it, you have to pass a bodyguard and climb a short flight of steps. The bartender taps me to get my attention, and points up at them.
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